


Stars

by whatthedubbs



Series: Poetry of the Moon's Light [4]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Dreams, M/M, Magic, Marriage, Memories, Moonshadow Philosophy:, Non-Explicit Sex, Nudity, Sensuality, Why wear clothing if you're invisible?, seriously I think there's only one paragraph where everyone is clothed, spirituality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21683617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthedubbs/pseuds/whatthedubbs
Summary: Alone in the nightOn a dark hillWith pines around meSpicy and still...--In dreams Runaan stands beside his soon-to-be-husband, bare and waist-deep in the mirror-still pool at the center of the silver grove.
Relationships: Runaan/Ethari (The Dragon Prince), Runaan/Tinker | Necklace Elf (The Dragon Prince)
Series: Poetry of the Moon's Light [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560703
Comments: 11
Kudos: 124





	Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Go put this on before you start reading:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWdjF2K2bZA

_Alone in the night_   
_On a dark hill_   
_With pines around me_   
_Spicy and still,_   
_And a heaven full of stars_   
_Over my head,_   
_White and topaz_   
_And misty red;_   
_Myriads with beating_   
_Hearts of fire_   
_That aeons_   
_Cannot vex or tire;_   
_Up the dome of heaven_   
_Like a great hill,_   
_I watch them marching_   
_Stately and still,_   
_And I know that I_   
_Am honored to be_   
_Witness_   
_Of so much majesty._

* * *

The full moon hangs high in the cloak of the night sky as Runaan climbs the rocky slope of the hill who’s peak is home to the trees that give his village its name. His skin is bare to her radiance save for a simple cloth bound around the cut of his hips and the drape of his unadorned hair down his back. The markings upon his skin shimmer with slight radiance where shadows fall across his path.

Her face looks down upon him as he kneels bare in the grass by the spring that feeds the village well, the coils of her night breezes caress his skin like a lover with a cherished partner; insubstantial fingers under the point of his chin tipping his face up to meet her light. 

She watches the moment he first sets eyes upon the elf he will give his heart to one day (but that is yet to come, and known only to the stars). Her light conceals the flush of his cheeks as the elf returns his wrap to him (and why did he choose one that was so _small?)_ and pulls him to his feet.

She passes behind the screen of the trees and only the depths of the stars are witness to the first stuttering conversation of their acquaintance. Only their far-away shimmering light illuminates the pink that spreads across Runaan’s cheeks as the elf follows him back down the hill to the village.

* * *

Runaan lies bare in the grass beside his husband in the light of the full moon, sweat cooling upon him and the heat of flushed skin mantling his cheeks. For a moment he is transported back to the night of their wedding; the weight of the silver bands around his horns new and unfamiliar, his wrist still bound to his new husband’s by a delicate silver thread; veins hot with the fire of wine and the weight of his husband between his thighs, the moon’s power flowing quick and bright beneath his skin.

A ghost of a laugh huffs out between his parted lips at the memory of Lain’s teasing when Runaan had complained of stiff hips the next morning. As if Tiadrin hadn’t made the same complaint to Ethari the morning after _her_ wedding. 

There are clever fingers in his hair, tucking loose strands behind his ears in a soothing caress; wrapping gently around his remaining horn to tilt his head back to meet soft lips. A familiar weight settles over him, a warm contrast to the cool of the night breeze that surrounds them both; the near-intangible hands of darkness and reflected light blessing them.

Above them the depths of the stars spin with the turning of the earth; so clear and deep away from the lesser lights of mortals that Runaan imagines the two of them could fall into their sphere and never stop. It has been years since his imprisonment, and still the impression of such _vastness_ brings tears to his eyes after such close confinement. 

Ethari’s lips are like the touch of delicate moonflowers on his face as he chases the hint of moisture from the corner of Runaan’s eyes; his eyes, when Runaan looks, are as deep as the depths of the sky and infinitely more kindly. Gently he presses their brows together, the tips of their noses brushing against each other. Runaan traps him there with arms that are once again strong and whole; drinking in Ethari’s soft laughter and the scent of nut-oil from the wisps of hair that fall about their faces and the hard line of heat pressed tight against his belly. The beat of his heart is a drum in his breast; quickening once again under his husband’s touch. 

But there is time, now. He is not newly-minted and constantly called out for assignments any longer. The war is over and there are hours until the moon will depart the heavens. There is time to linger between affirmations. Ethari is as thorough as he is inventive, but he too enjoys the pause. The spicy scent of crushed needles and sap drifts on the wind; and there are most likely adoriburrs colonizing the spread-out tangle of his hair; and his husband’s eyes are hungry and tender as he gazes down upon him.

* * *

His husband arches into the touch of his hands across the broad expanse of his chest; skin flushed dark and shining from exertion in the pale moonlight. A sweet, hungry sound escapes Runaan’s lips when Ethari chases them with his own; hot breath spiced with the scent of apples and honey rushing out to mingle with his own. 

He is a vision, spread out as an offering to the moon; pale hair fanning out like a corona from his head; the lines of her blessing illuminated on the surface of his skin. Her light dips and washes over every valley and peak of his body.

Strong thighs wrap around the cut of Ethari’s hips to draw him closer, and he goes without hesitation; desire breathing hot and bright beneath his breastbone. The sensation is familiar, experienced and savored so many times before; and yet still as overwhelming and powerful as if he was seeing Runaan so for the first time once more.

(Beauty and power and speed and prowling grace barely contained in a lean, lithe body; the channels of magic within bright and strong and well-balanced as the blades he will craft to be extensions of them).

Hands marked with the musk of fresh grass and earth cradle Ethari’s face as apple-sweet lips find his mouth once more. A marvel that the flavor still lingers after so many hours. Ethari had pressed each honey-adorned slice to his husband’s lips with his own fingers, and accepted morsels of night-dew fruit from Runaan’s in turn as they waited for the moon to rise up the dome of the night sky. 

There is at least another hour of the moon’s blessed light to be enjoyed before her face is hidden once more behind the screen of the tall pines. Ethari looks down on the face of his husband; open and loose from pleasure as he looks back. Runaan raises a questioning eyebrow and cants his hips ever so slightly upward and a rush of heat shoots up from the base of Ethari’s spine at the flex and roll of his body beneath him. And truly; could any elf find it in themselves to deny such an invitation? 

Ethari’s reply has his husband arching his back into.the air once more; eyes wide and full of the reflected deep of the cosmos.

* * *

In dreams Runaan stands beside his soon-to-be-husband, bare and waist-deep in the mirror-still pool at the center of the silver grove. The moon’s reflection plays around their hips like delicate chiffon floating upon the water’s surface as the village elders bind their wrists together with gossamer-thin threads of power. Ethari’s fingers twitch between his own as the magic takes hold, linking the channels of their energies together. 

Magic surges across the boundary and suddenly it is as if he is seeing his beloved clear in the light of day instead of nebulous and indistinct in the light of the moon. Ethari looks up into his eyes in wonder, his affection and delight written plainly across the upward curve of his lips. 

(Runaan is sure there is a similar expression upon his own face and quietly thanks the moon that the only one in the clearing who can see it is Ethari). 

Within the veil of sleep time is an illusion; and in the next moment Ethari’s skillful hands are slipping finely-engraved silver bands down the curve of his horns as Runaan guides simple brass bands over the tips of his new husband’s. Lain stands at his side, almost-unseen under the moonlight, the simple box that had housed Runaan’s gift disappearing from view. His heart-brother chuckles, and his wife laughs in return and suddenly there are hands at his back and he is stumbling forward into his new husband and their lips meet.

The noise of the suddenly-cheering guests disappears into the background as Ethari’s hands slide tight around his waist and up around the back of his neck and drag him down the short distance he needs to match the difference in their height and _devours_ him. Runnan follows where his hands guide him; makes a soft noise at the _interest_ he feels stirring where they are pressed tightly together…

And jolts awake just as a laughing Lain pushes both of them over into the pool.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to give these two a chance to be a little more sensual and intimate, and so Stars felt like the perfect foundation. It's the musical equivalent of that too-full-gonna-float-away feeling you feel around people you love a lot (for me, anyway). And the Sara Teasdale poem itself is /achingly/ sensual all on its own. 
> 
> Seriously, if you didn't read this with the music on, go back and do it; because it's part of the whole experience. I had (a different version) playing on repeat almost the entire time I wrote this.


End file.
